


American

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: It’s embarrassing, to say the least. Eames was brought up in a rigid household: smile, say hi, hello, how are you, please and thank you, nice to meet you, and goodnight. He was well versed in making nice but apparently he’d failed this time around.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Kudos: 66





	American

Eames always hated America on principle. At school, it was almost always the subject of discussion: which American television shows were the funniest, which American film would nab an Oscar, which American bird was the fittest. 

His older cousins Hamish and Archie could hardly let him get a word in, what with all their incessant drivel about The Cosby Show, his Aunt Poppy was all wound up over Harrison Ford, and every successive year his favourite radio station replaced his favourite British artists with the bloody village people. Eventually, he’d develop an intolerance to it all and by the time he met Arthur, he’d certainly had his fill. 

‘ He’s a bit impolite, isn’t he?’ Eames’d said to the chemist who he’d also just met. 

Another brit, from Worcester nonetheless. 

He’d shrugged in response. ‘ American, you mean.’

Eames’d quietly despised him for the first few days. The way his accent tended to cut through everyone else's, how he never cared to mince his words, routinely pointed out the obvious, his non-existent tact, and his silly American suit. 

Arthur’d tried to engage him in conversation about American politics once and then baseball another time, subjects which Eames had never once cared to discuss his entire life. But it was on the 5th day that Eames was sat quietly at his desk with a file open in his lap watching Arthur make one of his infamous lists on his old-faithful whiteboard. He paused in his writing and turned on them with some sort of dramatic gesticulation of his hands.

‘ This is all shit.’ He said recapping his marker. ‘ You’re going to have to do better than this.’

Eames’ mouth fell clear open and he looked at their chemist, who was shaking his head so minutely Eames was sure Arthur didn’t even notice. 

‘ Does anyone have anything actually worth my while?’

‘ Why don’t you come up with a bloody idea, you miserable ponce.’ Eames’d said before he could think better of it and of course, he couldn’t have kept it at a bloody idea.

A dimple appeared in Arthur’s left cheek and Eames caught his breath. 

‘ Oh snap.’ Arthur said and it didn’t bother Eames half as much as he’d care to admit. 

Oh, snap. Eames thought begrudgingly, cheeky bugger.

So then, it’s unbeknownst to Eames how it happened that the pair of them were out to dinner at his favourite oyster bar in central London that evening. Arthur, stripped out of his suit jacket and Eames, in a fugue state helping him dislodge his lobster tail. ’ I think we got off on the wrong foot.’ Arthur said as Eames was swapping their plates back.

’ What makes you say that?’

He flipped open the shell with a loose shrug and Eames noticed he had a beauty mark on the inside of his wrist. ‘ I don’t know… I just get the feeling I put you off somehow.’ He glanced at Eames. ‘ I don’t know if it’s something I said but I didn’t mean to.’

It’s embarrassing, to say the least. Eames was brought up in a rigid household: smile, say hi, hello, how are you, please and thank you, nice to meet you, and goodnight. He was well versed in making nice but apparently he’d failed this time around. 

‘ Really, there’s been nothing of the sort.’ He lied, sitting uncomfortably still in his seat.

Arthur took a sip of his blancs de blancs and Eames bit the inside of his cheek. ‘ You say that… but I feel like you’re just saying it.’

‘ Right.’ Arthur blinked at him and Eames wondered whether it was the dim lighting or if Arthur just had the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen.‘ I’m sorry, I think I just… you’re very abrupt, you must know. I’m just not accustomed… Let’s just… I mean, we can just… forget it completely, alright? Turn a new leaf and all that.’

While Eames was struggling with his words Arthur’d promptly returned to his meal. 

‘ Sure.’ He said around a buttered piece of lobster. 

—

It’s snowing in New York when Eames lands at JFK. 

He flips open his suitcase on the train to layer on another sweatshirt and the beanie and gloves he’d been careful to remember. The subway is mostly quiet, apart from the late-night commuters jerking out of sleep trying not to miss their stops and the homeless with no other place to go. Eames listens carefully to the whirring of the tracks underneath him. It’s calming, just like London if he closes his eyes and holds his head at the right angle.

There’s a gaggle of policemen milling about the local bodega and Eames gives them an apathetic nod before crossing the street to fumble in the front door. There are shoes cluttered in the foyer and he can hear a television playing faintly from somewhere inside. Eames abandons his luggage there and creaks up the front steps already anticipating crawling into bed. He flicks off the light left on in the bathroom and pushes in the bedroom door. 

Arthur is face down in the middle of the bed, his bare shoulders bathed in blue light from the BBC running on the telly. Eames strips down to his skivvies, pulls back the cover, and sits on the edge of the mattress. ‘ Arthur.’ He whispers and instinctually Arthur tucks his chin in close to his chest.

Eames props himself up on an elbow. 

‘ Darling.’

Arthur’s eyes scrunch up tight before they open and he mumbles a few choice unintelligible things. ‘ What’re you doing here?’ He finally says.

‘ Budge up.’ 

Arthur hardly shimmies back at all but Eames makes do.

‘ I could’ve sworn your flight’s not till' tomorrow.’ Arthur mumbles pulling the duvet tight around them. ‘ Am I dreaming?’

‘ It’d be a fine assumption considering my good looks.’

Eames can feel Arthur’s soft sigh against his skin and they lay there for a time in silence. It’s a surprise Arthur doesn’t fall back to sleep or that Eames doesn’t knock out completely, considering. 

‘ How was the job?’ Arthur mumbles nudging Eames even closer to the edge of the bed.

‘ Well, as you might be so inclined to say, shit hit the fucking fan.’

Arthur cranes his neck to look at Eames and he can hardly bear to open his eyes but he smiles anyhow. ‘ Oh snap.’


End file.
